


The Kindness of Strangers

by Verecunda



Category: Dickensian (TV)
Genre: Class Differences, Gen, Pre-Canon, Victorian Attitudes, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: Society may not allow any point of similarity between a gentleman's daughter and a working girl, but a chance encounter gives Honoria Barbary and Nancy a chance to discover some common ground.





	The Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/gifts).



> Dear Dragonbat: Happy Yuletide season! I was very intrigued by your prompt about Honoria meeting Nancy. They're probably the most interesting of Dickens' "fallen women" characters, and it was interesting to imagine what they might have to say to each other. I hope you like this, and wish you Happy Holidays!
> 
> NB: Rated for discussion of sex and prostitution (and Victorian attitudes to them).

The counter-top in the front shop of Mantalini’s had never gleamed as brilliantly as it presently did under the vehemence of Honoria’s scrubbing. It was getting late, and she was the only one left in the shop. Martha and Kate had offered to stay behind and help her close the shop, but in truth, she wished to be alone for a while, and the longer she was detained here, the better. She had no wish to return home just yet. Papa would still be out, so it would be only herself and Frances, and _that_ was not a prospect she relished.

She attacked the counter with increased ferocity. Every day, it seemed, Frances launched some new assault against her. She deplored Honoria’s decision to take up a position at the milliner’s as unbecoming to their station, then in almost the next breath accused her of being idle and frivolous. Everything about her was now picked apart and subjected to the most biting appraisal. If it was not her occupations, then it was her manners, her clothing, her friends… 

But the worst had come when Honoria made the fatal mistake of confiding to her about James Hawdon. There had once been a time that they had shared everything, every tiny secret, jokes that nobody but themselves could understand, almost their own language; and she had thought, despite all the differences that had grown between them lately, something so important, so close to her heart, could still be safely shared between them.

Instead, Frances had subjected to her to a whole broadside of questions: hard, accusatory questions regarding James’ rank, his character, his history, his means. Then the questions had sharply turned to _when_ had Honoria met him, _where_ had she met him, _how long ago_ , until Honoria began to have the disagreeable impression that it was not James’ character that was under examination, but her own.

The subject had gone from bad to worse in the months since. She had continued to meet James in secret. Papa had always been indulgent, but she suspected that even he might have some objection to their attachment. James might be an officer, but a captain’s pay was not much in the grand scheme of things, and he owed his commission to the goodwill of his senior officers, rather than his own connexions in society. As it was, he hadn’t much to offer marriage on - at least in material terms. But James was full of fire and imagination; he was popular with his senior officers and the private soldiers under his command. He had high hopes for his future prospects, and when he talked, he would paint such wonderful pictures of what their lives together would be like. They were sure it could only be a matter of time before he could offer fairly for her, but she wanted to wait until it was assured before introducing him to Papa.

So she and James had kept themselves to secret meetings and stolen moments, often with the collusion of Amelia or James’ brother-officers. But Honoria often fancied that her sister must have eyes everywhere, for no matter how careful they were, she always seemed to know when they had been together, and had some choice remark ready when Honoria returned home. Things had come to a particularly unpleasant head just that morning.

“I saw you,” came the accusation. “Flaunting yourself in the street, for all the world to see!”

“It was only a kiss goodnight,” Honoria had protested, with the now-familiar mingling of anger and dismay. “There’s no harm in that, surely! And I don’t see how you could have seen it at all unless you had been purposefully keeping watch for us.”

At this, Frances’ pale face had turned positively livid, fury flashing darkly in her eyes. But she didn’t lose her temper. That was the most vexing thing about Frances, sometimes. No matter how angry she made Honoria with all her pricking and gibing, she so rarely permitted herself to become angry in kind, so that trying to argue with her was about as useful as hurling oneself against a wall of ice. So it was now: a flash of anger, then it was swiftly mastered, and Frances withdrew into that cool, lofty composure from which she looked down on the rest of the world.

“Perhaps _you_ do not mind making a spectacle of yourself, Honoria,” she said, “but you might at least spare a thought for how your actions reflect upon Father and I. I think there must be low women down at the docks who conduct themselves with more modesty than you.”

If Frances had slapped her across the face, she could not have been more appalled. She even gasped aloud, as if she had in fact been struck. She couldn’t reply, could only stare at Frances aghast before turning and fleeing the house.

Back in the present, she continued to scrub the countertop, expending all the impotent fury that had been building within her all day. She might have gone on in this way until she had worn the surface down to paper, but just then, she caught a flicker of movement out the corner of her eye and, glancing up, she dimly saw that there was someone standing outside, looking in at the front window.

Her spine stiffened, and she almost forgot to breathe. Her first thought was that she was alone here, it was dark outside, and she would be utterly helpless against any burglar to took it into their head to break in. But when she peered closer, she saw that the figure at the window was just a young girl, quite alone and dressed, so far as she could see, in an accumulation of rags. She was not looking at Honoria, but instead at the gowns displayed on the mannequins in the front window. Seeing this, Honoria put down the cloth and crossed the shop floor. Opening the door, she looked out into the street.

“Can I help you?”

At the sound of her voice, the girl started, broken from some private reverie, and drew sharply away from her. Close to, Honoria saw that she was younger than herself, perhaps no more than seventeen or eighteen, with dark-gold hair, and a face that was pretty, but showed all the signs of great privation and hunger. The fine bones of her face were alarmingly pronounced, which made her large dark eyes seem all the larger as they stared at Honoria, full of alarm, but also a curious sort of defiance.

“I ain’t doing nothing wrong,” she shot out. “I was just looking; it ain’t no crime just to look.”

This bristling defensiveness took Honoria rather aback, and made her a little indignant. “I didn’t think you were doing anything wrong. I just happened to see you here at the window, and thought you might be in need some assistance. Are you well?”

Even as she asked the question, she couldn’t help but observe how, despite the girl’s show of defiance, she was trembling with cold and her teeth were chattering. The March night was bitter, winter hanging on with sharp, clinging fingers, and her old clothes were so threadbare as to seem, to Honoria, rather less useful at keeping out the cold than a net. Her heart twisted with compassion.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and Honoria saw how her gaze flitted from side to side, as if searching out all means of escape within immediate reach. Heavens! she thought, what sort of life must this girl lead, that a friendly offer should make her so suspicious?

“I mean you no harm,” she rushed to assure her. “But wouldn’t you like to get out of this cold, just for a while?”

Another suspicious pause, then the girl raised her chin, and with a strange air of condescending to accept Honoria’s offer, said, “All right, I’ll come in,” before stepping over the threshold.

Honoria had kept the fire in the back shop built up, and so that was where she led her unexpected guest. She hung a kettle of water on to heat, and brought out Madame Mantalini’s delicate little tea-service. She doubted somehow that her employer would look very favourably on her bringing it out for such a ragged creature, but she acted on the supposition that what Madame Mantalini didn’t know, couldn’t very well hurt her. As they waited for the water to boil, they drew up their chairs before the fire, and Honoria saw how the girl edged as close to the heat as she could, putting her feet in their thin shoes up on the fender.

“It might take some time before the water’s hot enough for tea,” she said apologetically.

The girl gave her a sideways glance, and with a faintly sardonic smile, replied, “I got something to keep us going in the meantime, if you like.”

So saying, she rummaged in the layers of her skirts and drew out a very old, very battered little hip-flask. She unscrewed the top and took a deep draught of whatever was inside, before proffering it to Honoria. “Here.”

Tentatively, Honoria took the flask. As she raised it to her mouth, the fumes caused her eyes to water. “Good God!” she cried, unable to help herself. “What is it?”

The girl looked amused. “Just a nip of gin. Go on.”

Honoria hesitated. She was used to drink a glass of wine or sherry at dinner, perhaps even a brandy if she was feeling adventurous, but gin was something out of her experience. But it seemed ill-mannered to refuse, and besides, she found herself quite curious to see what it was like; so before she could reconsider, she brought the flask to her lips and took a swift drink.

The gin seared her throat as it went down, and she couldn’t help recoiling with a smothered cry, pressing a hand to her mouth. Seeing no other recourse, she forced herself to swallow, and felt it blaze down in her stomach. Her face flamed, and she half-fancied she already felt her head beginning to reel.

When she dared glance up, she saw that the girl was looking at her with a tolerant sort of amusement, as one watching a baby take its first steps. “Bit on the strong side for you, miss?”

Gasping and somewhat embarrassed of herself, Honoria handed back the flask. “It’s like drinking turpentine.”

“You get used to it,” said the girl carelessly, tucking the flask back into the folds of her skirts. “Keeps out the cold, at any rate, on a night like this.”

She laughed a little. “I don’t doubt it.” Thinking the ice sufficiently broken, she now ventured, “My name is Honoria. Honoria Barbary.”

“Nancy,” replied her guest. “Just Nancy.” Something unreadable came into her face then, but it cleared almost as quickly as it had come, and she went on, “I’ve seen you before - in the Cripples, couple of times, on the arm of that soldier-boy.”

“James,” said Honoria, smiling just to say his name. “Captain James Hawdon, that is. Yes, he has taken me there a few times.”

She had certainly never told Frances _that_. She had thought herself very daring indeed even to set foot in such a place. There had been something exciting, even transgressive, about it.

“He your young man, then?” Nancy asked, and when Honoria nodded, she went on, “Engaged?”

“No,” said Honoria, unable to conceal her disappointment. “That is to say, not formally. We wish to marry, but we’re waiting on him to be promoted before I introduce him to my father. Even my sister can hardly object to that,” she could not prevent throwing out, a little bitterly.

Nancy smiled at that, knowing. “She don’t approve of him?”

“No,” said Honoria, unable to suppress a sigh of vexation, “and she never misses an opportunity to let me know it. The things she says - everything is shame and vice and sin. She makes me feel so… low.”

“ _Ah_ ,” said Nancy, with great significance. “One of them, is she? I’ve had more run-ins with her sort than I like to think about. Accordin’ to them, I should be well set up in a hotter climate ’bout ten times over by now.”

Honoria felt a twinge of guilt at speaking so ill of her sister to a complete stranger, but perhaps owing to the potency of the gin, she found herself warming to her theme: “This morning, she all but accused me of being a - well, you know -”

Nancy’s eyebrows went up. “What’s that, then?”

Honoria blushed, struggling to think of a polite expression. “A - a lady of the night. A street-woman.”

“A whore?” suggested Nancy, with perfect composure, and when Honoria stared at her, she leaned back in her seat and laughed. “God! Your sister has some strange notions. A nice lad with some gold trimming on him and a couple of kisses… I wish someone’d told _me_ that’s what made a working girl. I’d have a much easier time of it.”

“Then you are…” 

She couldn’t finish, but stared at Nancy in frank astonishment. She was not the least like the image Honoria had formed of such women. There was nothing crass or lewd about either her manner or her dress: indeed, sitting there in her tattered skirts, with her ragged shawl gathered close about her shoulders, she looked so very young, and despite her outward manner, Honoria thought she sensed a vulnerability about her. Now her knowing looks and defiant air, which Honoria had found somewhat perplexing until now, assumed a dreadful significance: that of an innocence lost far too soon. To think of this girl, forced to lead such a life…

“Oh,” she said, “oh, I’m so sorry…”

“What for?” said Nancy, turning an odd, almost fierce look upon her. Honoria felt rather abashed, though she could not say precisely why.

Faltering a little, she replied, “I just can’t imagine what such a life must be like.”

Nancy shrugged, looking into the fire. “It ain’t as bad as all that. I could be breaking my back in a factory or cripplin’ myself in a mill.”

“But to be bought and sold… your own person not even your own…”

Again that shrug. “Can’t see as I’m any worse off than them rich young ladies whose fathers palm ’em off on fat old gents ’s long as the price is right. Least in my line, there’s no pretence. We all know who we are and why we’re there.”

This was an exceptionally pragmatic way of looking at it, and Honoria found it hard to reply. In her world, women like Nancy - prostitutes, she told herself firmly, she needn’t be frightened of the word - were at best the objects of pity, at worst, of censure and condemnation. She certainly knew how Frances’ opinions stood on such things: that there must be something inherently bad about such women to end up in such a profession. It was never an opinion she had shared, assuming that only the gravest desperation could drive a woman to such an end, but it was always something she had thought of with a shudder. But to hear Nancy speak of it in such a matter-of-fact way, as if it were no better or worse than any other profession, was quite startling.

“But,” she said, struggling to organise her thoughts, “is it not strange, being forced to share such… intimacies with somebody - a stranger?”

“Strange?” said Nancy. “What’s strange about it? One man’s put together much the same as another, in my experience.”

Honoria couldn’t help it: she laughed, though she quickly put her hand over her mouth to stifle it. She had never had such a conversation in all her life, and though Nancy’s way of thinking was utterly foreign to her, she found herself strangely fascinated by it. All her life, she had heard of chastity as something utterly secret, even sacrosanct, bound inextricably up with virtue. For a woman to give herself to a man was the ultimate act, an act that was perhaps in itself as binding as her marriage vows. To hear Nancy speak of the act in such a casual manner, unconnected with any considerations of good or bad…

In truth, she already knew something of desire. Often, when she and James were alone together, she found herself vividly aware of her body and his, and there had been so many times that their kisses and embraces had grown so much in intensity that they had been in danger of forgetting themselves. It was an exquisite sensation, promising all manner of untold pleasures, so much so that she almost didn’t want to resist it. But every time, thoughts of vice and sin intruded, the loss of chastity so very much analogous to the loss of morality; and each time she had pulled herself back from the brink, though it always left her feeling strangely bereft.

It was certainly not something she had ever told Frances. It was not even something she had been able to bring herself to discuss fully with Amelia. She loved her friend dearly, and they had shared almost everything since they were girls, but though Amelia liked James and was sympathetic to their situation, Honoria sometimes found it hard to confide some of these deepest secrets, even to her. Amelia was the very model of propriety and good breeding, and as far as Honoria knew, she had never had any sweethearts of her own (indeed, sometimes she doubted Amelia was even aware that there were men in the world besides her father and brother). With no one to talk to about such things, it had left her feeling quite alone and confused.

But somehow, although Nancy was a complete stranger, she felt encouraged to speak a little of these feelings now. At least she knew she would be met with no judgement of any kind.

“I wish I could consider the matter so calmly,” she said. “Often when I’m with James, I feel…”

“Not taken the final plunge, then?” said Nancy knowingly.

“No,” said Honoria, colouring a little.

“But you want to?” Nancy cut right to the heart of the matter.

“Yes,” Honoria admitted, and now she thought her face must be flaming red, to have admitted such a thing aloud. “So many times, I’ve been so tempted, but I’ve always pulled back.”

“Well,” said Nancy, “if you don’t mind me sayin’, miss, if you like your young man, and he likes you, and you mean to wed him anyway, I don’t see where the harm is, myself.”

She spoke in her usual careless manner, but Honoria thought she caught something lying behind the words, some strange sense of desolation that went to her heart.

“Do you like them, Nancy? The men who come to you?”

Nancy shot a look at her, then turned her face to the fire. “Some on ’em are nice enough, I suppose. Some not so much. Same as any line of work, I’d say.”

There it was. Honoria didn’t even want to imagine what lay behind that simple statement, “Some not so much.” Nancy’s experience of the world seemed so superior to hers, but at what cost?

“But are you happy?”

Nancy snorted. “That’s a strange thing to ask. D’you go about askin’ chimney-sweeps and lawyers’ clerks if they’re happy in their work?”

Honoria looked down. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a strange thought to me. I can’t imagine… giving myself to someone I did not know.”

No matter Nancy’s pragmatic views on the subject, the notion of having to submit to any man able to pay for her repelled her. Perhaps passion needn’t be the font of sin and immorality that Frances held it to be, but she was still convinced that it ought to be something precious, something beautiful, something she could only consider sharing with somebody she loved. With James.

Nancy only laughed. There was something heartbreakingly cynical in the sound - cynical, but not mocking. “Well, you’ve got that luxury, don’t you, miss? You’ve got a cosy little position here at the dressmaker’s, and I’ll wager your dad don’t want for chinks. You can afford to be choosy about your gentlemen callers. But I don’t have much else to trade on.”

“But what about love?”

Something flickered in the depths of Nancy’s eyes: flickered, then died out. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

This was a view that Honoria simply couldn’t understand. What was more precious than love? What was more likely to sustain you through hardship, but love? She didn’t even want to consider how she would be if not for James. She had been grieving for Mother, they all had; her death had left a lingering desolation that had pervaded their whole lives, long after the formal mourning period was over and the black clothes had been put away. But James had put light back into her life, his love and companionship sustaining her through the pain.

“What if you met someone you truly loved,” she said, “and who loved you in return?”

“What, so I should give ’em for nothing what others’ll pay for? I have a livelihood to think on, you know. Love’s nice to sing about in songs, but it don’t put bread on the table.”

“But if you found someone you loved,” said Honoria, thinking of all the plans that she and James had made together, “you could build something together, something strong. It would be the two of you, working together, sharing what you have, and you wouldn’t have to… sell yourself.” At the look on Nancy’s face, she broke off. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sermonise, I promise you. I get quite enough of that at home.”

“Bless your heart, miss,” said Nancy, with a slight laugh, “I’ve heard a lot worse from other ladies in my time. Friends of your sister, I reckon.”

Honoria gave a bleak smile. “Perhaps. Please forgive me, Nancy. I just find it hard to understand your life. I can’t imagine such intimacy without love.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Nancy wryly. “Some folks can have one without the other all right.”

It seemed such a dismal prospect. “I feel I would be giving away a part of my own self.”

Nancy’s expression was unreadable as she looked down at the fire again. She seemed lost within herself, and Honoria couldn’t help but wonder what she saw there. What memories, or shades of another life that might have been? But when she looked up again, her manner had reverted to its determined nonchalance.

“Well, I don’t pretend it’s for everyone,” she said at last. “It ain’t no bed of roses, but that’s the world for you. And it’s better than what I had before, which is nothin’ at all. I walk the streets, but I don’t need to sleep on ’em any more, and you can’t know what that’s worth.”

“No,” said Honoria gravely. “Not at all. But you deserve to be happy, Nancy. You deserve to have someone who will love you for yourself, not merely… what they can do to you.”

Nancy’s life was not one she envied, not at all, but for all that, she felt herself struck by a strange sort of admiration for the girl. For all the hardships she had, and must continue to, endure, she did so with grit and determination, and the will to keep herself as much to herself as she could. There was courage there, and pride, even if it was not of the sort that would ever be countenanced by society.

Suddenly, they were both broken from their thoughts as the kettle began to whistle shrilly. Honoria had quite forgotten about it, and from the way Nancy started, it seemed she had, too. They exchanged an identical look of surprise; then, at the same time, they both burst out laughing. For that moment, at least, there was no gulf of station or lived experiences between them, merely two young women sharing a moment of common amusement.

“Well, that certainly sounds ready,” said Honoria, as the last of her giggles dispersed. “Let me just get the cups.”

“Nah, actually, I’d better be on my way,” said Nancy.

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. “They’ll probably be expectin’ me at the Cripples by now. ’Sides,” she added, with that ironical smile, “best for your sake you don’t feel the need to bring out the good silver anywhere near me. I’d think myself professionally bound to lift it off you.”

“Oh, Madame Mantalini never lets _us_ near the good silver, I assure you,” said Honoria with a smile. “But if you’re sure…”

“Yeah, I am. I only come up this way when I’ve a bit of time to kill and fancy daydreamin' for a bit. I’d better make tracks.”

“At least let me see you out.”

They passed through the front shop. Beyond the windows, the night was dark, fitfully lit by the glow of the street-lamps. As Honoria opened the door, a chill wind cut through her, and she couldn’t help but send another glance at Nancy’s thin shawl and shoes, full of misgivings about sending her out into the cold like that. She thought a little guiltily of her own wrapper and gloves, and her new bonnet, lying upon the counter ready for her own departure. She half-considered offering Nancy a few coins, even just something that would pay for something heating, whether from a coffee-stall or the Three Cripples, but thought better of it. She had the feeling that Nancy might look upon such an offer, unsolicited, with offence. So she simply opened the door and let her out.

“Well - evenin’, then,” said Nancy. She stepped outside, then seemed to occur to her, for she turned back and fixed Honoria with a very grave, earnest look.

“We can’t all get what we want in life,” she said, “but if you’ve found something you want, miss, if you’ll take my advice, you won’t hesitate, but grab hold of it with both hands. We need to grab hold of all the happiness we can in this world.”

“I will,” said Honoria. “Now promise me, Nancy, that you will do the same.”

Nancy smiled, very sincerely, without the least appearance of irony or cynicism. “All right, then. Good luck to you, miss.”

“And good luck to you, Nancy.”

Nancy smiled again, then turned on her heel and started down the street, hugging herself as she went. Honoria watched her go, a slight but purposeful figure, before she melted into the shadows beyond the lamp at the corner, and was gone.


End file.
